


One Morning

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e04 Coda, F/M, It's basically Morse's thoughts, Slice of Life, Win and Fred are barely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:09:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: He watched her go, absorbing the swing of her hair, the clop of her heels on pavement, until she rounded the bend to the train station. Too little. Money, a voice on the phone. Had he had nothing else?





	One Morning

He'd felt it coming, that tear, but it was still a surprise when it rolled down his cheek, a path scorched new. He scrubbed at it with one hand, embarrassed, even though there was no one out at dawn to see, and her back long turned away. He watched her go, absorbing the swing of her hair, the clop of her heels on pavement, until she rounded the bend to the train station. Too little. Money, a voice on the phone. Had he had nothing else?

He hadn't been able to make her stay. How could he, when he would leave himself? Just knew it was no good, that it never solved anything. The nightmares didn’t care whether you laid your head in Oxford, London, or the bloody moon. They'd come anyway. She just didn't know that yet, a blessing itself that she'd never had no reason to, and it wasn't a thing you could take on someone's word. Everyone had to try running for themselves. Find out the hard way.

So he'd watched her walk away. And then sat back in the car, frozen, hands on the wheel but unable to turn the key. She'd asked him to look after her parents. How long had he sat? Long enough for true daylight to emerge, for neighbourhood cats to return from night-time adventures, and for the milk van to whine down the street.

A door burst open – Thursday, practically in his undergarments, frantic – he got out of the car.

He wished he'd stopped her, if only to stop that look. To stop the matching grief on Mrs Thursday's face, clutching the door frame with whitened fingers like it was the only thing holding her up. Thursday held her tightly, bundled her back into the house. It wouldn't do to have the neighbours stare.

Last time he was here he was shown out in no uncertain terms, railed at Thursday for his policing practices, made a mess of all the kindness this family had ever shown him, and he has no way to make that up. Thursday says he drew the fire, knows he'd be forgiven having done far less than that, but it doesn't make it right and he didn't do that for -

He's not sure why he did that. He wasn't thinking of Thursday at the time; mentoring and support and more protection than he deserved. Or Mrs Thursday, endless cups of tea drunk too-hot, halfway out the door, and every morsel of food she could press upon him. Only knew, in that moment, after everything he'd watched happen, he couldn't have – even now the name comes short, hot, forbidden to mind – Joan – looking down a barrel for one more second.

He stands on the garden path. He's pretty sure he didn't lock the car. Pretty sure no one on this street would try to nick it. He should return it. He should let what's left of this family knit together, broken bones that won't quite heal right until she returns. If she does. Of course she will. She has a family. She has a home.

But the door was left open, and she had asked him to look after her parents. He sees the familiar hallway, the stairs, the coats where they hang, one light blue and one dark brown missing. For now. She asked him to. And it's no price to pay, not when the alternative is back to his lonely flat, or hours sat motionless in the Jaguar.

He goes inside.

 


End file.
